Cassie Miles - Indestructible

Her headache was gone, thank goodness. As she propped herself up on the pillows, she didn’t feel achy or sore at all. Nothing to worry about. She was going to be all right.

Drew returned to the bedroom and sat on the bed beside her. “How are you feeling?”

“Surprisingly good.”

He reached for her arm. “Let’s take a look at that bruise.”

When he peeled off the bandage, the dark black-and-blue area inside her arm had faded back to an almost normal skin color. How could that be? Automatically, she reached for her glasses, then remembered that she hadn’t been wearing them, didn’t need them. Vaguely, she remembered hearing that a woman’s vision improved when she was pregnant. She’d always thought that was an old wives’ tale. But maybe not.

Drew leaned down and kissed the spot on her arm that had been injured. “Looks good.”

“I can’t believe I’m better already. Guess I wasn’t hurt that badly.”

“Yeah,” he said, “I’m a fast healer myself.”

Waking up together, even if they hadn’t made love last night, felt sweet, and she was tempted to carry their easy intimacy to the next level with a kiss. Would it be so bad to make love to him one more time? The answer, unfortunately, was yes.

If she let her guard down, she’d only be hurt. There was no way they could be together. He had his globe-trotting profession. She had her cozy lifestyle. And never the twain would meet. She cleared her throat. “I don’t suppose you have coffee.”

“I didn’t, but I took the liberty of raiding your apartment last night and taking your coffee. It’s brewing. I also grabbed some bread and butter for toast.” He paused. “And I packed a suitcase with things I thought you’d need.”

“Why?”

“We can’t stay here, Melinda. Last night, I found a bug outside the window.”

She was pretty sure that he wasn’t talking about an insect. “A listening device? Like in the spy novels?”

“My enemies overheard us talking last night. They know you’re important to me, and they want to use you to get to me.”

“Let’s do a reality check.” She pulled her arm from his grasp and hiked up the comforter to cover her sports bra. “We’re in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. In a plain, old apartment building. I’m a librarian, for pity’s sake. Nothing exotic ever happens to a person like me.”

“Brace yourself.” He rose from the bed. “Get dressed and meet me in the kitchen. I owe you an explanation.”

In his bathroom, she found the toiletries she generally used in the morning. He’d packed her bags? He wanted to whisk her away to his secret cabin?

She splashed water on her face and brushed her teeth. When she first hooked up with Drew, she knew he was too good to be true. Handsome, smart and funny. Now she knew the downside. He was nuts, delusional. Or was he? Was his job as a globe-trotting journalist a cover for a more dangerous occupation?

She put on her zippered sweatshirt and went to the front room, where he sat on the sofa drinking coffee from a Sioux Falls souvenir mug. “If you’re a spy,” she said, “who do you work for?”

“I’m freelance.” He leaned back on the sofa, and his bathrobe gaped open, showing a sexy glimpse of chest hair. “You know that.”

“You’re not CIA? Not part of some mysterious undercover network?”

“I’m not a spy.” He rose and went toward the bathroom. “Help yourself to coffee. I’ll be back in a minute.”

When he left the room, she glanced around. Her baby blue suitcase on the end of the sofa was the only bright touch in an otherwise unadorned, masculine room. The window shades were still drawn. A rifle leaned against the wall by the front door. There was some kind of electronic equipment on the table, along with night goggles. On the television, she saw three inset pictures that seemed to be from cameras monitoring the hallway and the outside of the building. Where was she? The bat cave?

On the kitchen counter by the coffeemaker was his Beretta. She poured coffee and made two pieces of toast.

What if Drew’s paranoia had some basis in fact? Last night had been scary. That was for sure. She’d never been attacked before. If she could have remembered what happened, she undoubtedly would have been more freaked out. During her struggle, her apartment was trashed. It must have been violent. But was it purposeful? Had Drew’s “enemy” targeted her? Why? It just didn’t make sense.

When the toast popped up, she slathered on the butter. Thus far, Melinda hadn’t had a moment of morning sickness. Her mom said that she’d never been sick while pregnant, and she’d delivered four babies, all girls with Melinda being the eldest. Her baby would be the first grandchild.

As she finished off her toast and washed it down with coffee, she found herself hoping that Drew’s paranoia wasn’t an inherited trait that might be passed on.

He came into the kitchen and snagged the second piece of toast before she could claim it.

“Hey,” she protested. “I made that for me.”

“Fine. I wanted pie, anyway.”

She’d forgotten about the apple pie. Not exactly a healthy breakfast, but it did contain fruit. “I’ll have some of that.”

They dished up pie and settled on the sofa since he didn’t have a dining table. With her fork, she pointed to the three pictures on the television screen. “Is all this security really necessary?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. “And it’s also entertaining. See that? On the camera that shows the parking lot? It’s the anthropology professor who lives across the hall from you.”

“Her name is Katherine Bidwell.” Melinda watched the spry elderly woman whose gray hair was pulled back in a tight bun. Bustling to her car, she juggled a plastic water bottle and a satchel of books. “Some people say she’s a genius.”

“She was smart enough to call 911 last night.”

He’d gotten dressed while he was in the bedroom. In his white T-shirt, worn jeans and running shoes, he looked sane and normal. But he was still cuckoo. The evidence was all around. Her packed suitcase. The guns. The surveillance equipment.

She finished off her pie and considered licking the plate, but decided she was full. Leaning back on the sofa, she studied his classically handsome profile. “You said it was smart for Professor Bidwell to call the police. Why can’t you do the same thing? Tell the police about your enemies.”

“They’d never believe me.”

“So you know that your story sounds a little bit, um, crazy.”

“But true.”

If he really wanted her to run away with him to a cabin in the woods, he needed to give her a far more thorough explanation. “Convince me.”

“It all started when I was ten years old. A couple of months after I moved in with Belle and Harlan Anderson …”

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